


In The Aeroplane Over the Sea

by dinkydykeviking



Series: Trans Theo [1]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Theo's yearning, Theodore Decker Has Nightmares, Trans Theodore Decker, Young Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinkydykeviking/pseuds/dinkydykeviking
Summary: Boris gives Theo a massage that's kinda it, its soft and short and I only hope its semi decent
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: Trans Theo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211930
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	In The Aeroplane Over the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'll Cut My Hair, To Make You Stare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607730) by [ultra_violett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultra_violett/pseuds/ultra_violett). 



> Hi this is my first fic? I hope its okay and I got the characters right. This was actually inspired by ultra_violett's fic, 'I'll Cut my hair to make you stare', Feel free to check it out, its really good. This is just a one shot, idk if i'd actually write more but maybe in the future. (This was mainly me projecting, because I'm sick of my back hurting after I bind lol)

Warm desert wind whistled outside the house, blowing up dust and sand in its wake but inside, the upstairs bedroom was as silent as a funeral procession apart from the sounds of sleep and Boris’ audible snuffling into the bed’s duvet. Despite living in Las Vegas, the room itself was thick with heat from the outside sun, leaving Theo feeling like an ant under one of those magnifying glasses. He nudged Boris in the ribs with his elbow, causing him to snort with a start but he was still out cold, Theo untangled himself from Boris’ arms and reached wearily for the blinking alarm on his nightstand. There was no point in even trying to get ready for school. 

Theo rolled off the bed and itched at his hair absentmindedly, sniffing his top from last night (One of Boris’ oversized black shirts), God he smelt like spilt liquor and stale sweat, he needed a shower. He shuffled into the bathroom, his head aching and his posture absolutely abysmal, wearing a binder tended to do that to him plus a heavy backpack didn’t help. Most of the time Theo walked with a complete stoop. Still, he peeled off his shirt and slowly took off the binder, avoiding the reflexion in the mirror and stretched for the first time in hours. Theo could feel his shoulders click and pop as he stretched his arms and then pointed to his feet. God that felt good. When did stretching become a luxury? Unfortunately he couldn’t do anything for his upper back but that couldn’t be helped. Theo turned the cold water faucet on, letting the water fill up the sink before splashing himself with the icy water. He frowned for a second rubbing his tongue over his teeth - Xandra needed to buy toothpaste again - Theo reached for the bar of Irish Spring soap and rubbed it under his pits, feeling the underarm hair go against the soap. A simple thing but euphoria washed over him, grinning to himself, just like a cis boy, he too was a dirty smelly creature. Like an older brother in a coming of age film. Theo then splashed cold water under his armpits, rinsing himself and gave a tentative sniff. Much better. Theo pulled his shirt back over his head and opened the bathroom cabinet, reaching for the painkillers to dull his hangover. With two pills nestled in his fist, he hung his binder over the radiator, mentally nothing to wash it before his Dad and Xandra got home.

As Boris slept soundly, Theo busied himself with the kettle in the kitchen wincing as it boiled over and shrieked. He could have taken the painkillers with water but started to prefer the morning routine he and Boris shared. Instead he made two mugs of hot strong tea, his bitter while Boris had 5 sugars and brought them upstairs. After waking Boris up, he accepted the tea, Theo swallowed the painkillers and the two hoped for fast relief in silence. Boris made a half hearted attempt to make the bed neatly, returning to lounge on it carelessly, sipping his tea and reading his latest novel, occasionally muttering in Russian. It made Theo’s heart swell uneasily, he only knew the curse words and the frantic whispers Boris used to coax him back to sleep after another dream. Gazing at Boris, he suddenly wished to be a painter, like Fabritius - to be able to catch all of Boris’ angles, his jaw and cheekbones in this light, even his greased locks. Or rather Theo favoured his friend under the moonlight when took the form of a long dead revolutionary, his artful dodger come to life. He thought of the Goldfinch and its chain hidden above his bed, that was no longer the only secret in his heart. Suddenly there was a thud, Boris’ book had stuck him

‘Dude what the fuck?’, cried Theo rubbing his arm, setting his tea down on the nightstand. ‘I could have spilt hot tea on me you dipshit’,

Boris only shrugged, his usual gesture. ‘What can I say? I missed Potter, don’t take me personally no? Anyway the book was boring’, he gestured with his arm for Theo to sit next to him on the bed. The blonde boy complied only to find Boris wanted him to lie down on bed.

‘Have I hurt you before? Say so and I will stop, honest Potter - I wouldn’t do that to anyone’, and that was certainly true. Slowly Boris pulled up Theo’s shirt, revealing his pale back. His fingers traced Theo’s skin, connecting the freckles on his back like a constellation causing Theo to shiver. They were sober or mostly sober, regret filled Theo’s mouth no matter if he swallowed it away. To his surprise Boris placed a hard spherical ball onto the centre of his back and pressed it into his spine, rolling it in circular motions. Theo felt something in his back pop into place, relief flooding him as he groaned into the mattress. Boris only chuckled

‘You do not live under the cupboard like Harry Potter eh? Stop with all this hunched over bullshit, You’d feel better’.


End file.
